


All about the Moon

by Deannie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He cannot ask for them, of course. He cannot damn them to his torture, but wishes for the feel of them; their smell, their tender presence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All about the Moon

Sometimes, it's all about the moon. 

Sometimes he gazes through the pane, as schoolmates' snores accompany his watch. He looks for where it isn't, when he's strong and sane and cannot feel its pull. 

And slowly as his vigil spans the nights, he feels that draw again--the danger growing ever larger, hanging ever longer in the darkened sky. 

In those days, he finds he longs for silence more and more. Each word is painful toward the end, and every friend, ill-met. He prays for some release, for some escape. 

He prays for nothing. 

But something always comes; bold, hard, and bright--full silver in the darkness. And something breaks within him, something fresh and new and brilliant. He feels the power coming, going, always-- _never_ \--ending. The cycle of his curse. 

He dreams of friendship then--of sweet companions in his weary shack. He cannot ask for them, of course. He cannot damn them to his torture, but wishes for the feel of them; their smell, their tender presence. 

Some day, he tells himself, perusing sky not blotted out by moonlight; some day his friends will be there, by his side, as Siri promised. For now, he holds the thought of it as bane to his becoming. And somehow, with the image of his friends, this moonless night becomes a lifetime, lived in safety and their warm embrace. As if compelled by thought, long, soft, black hair and chiding eyes float through the darkness toward him, reflecting in the glass that bars the way to blessed night. 

A soft rasp--fabric--at his side, and strong dark arms enfold him, holding tight with promise of that dreamed some day. 

"Remus, it's time to sleep," a light voice whispers, breath wafting through a mop of light brown hair as benediction to his watch. 

"A little longer, please," he begs in murmur, leaning on the broad, safe chest. "It's peaceful." Dark. "There's time to breathe." 

"There's time tomorrow, Love." Tones darker still than moonless sky, and heavy hand caresses, leaving sunlight in its wake. 

Oh, time tomorrow, in the sunlight. Friends and classes, books and charms and potions.... 

Siri. 

Yes, sometimes, it's all about the moon. 

But now, it's all about the darkness. 

* * *  
the end


End file.
